Vivi smiled. His words of reassurance helped her a little, though her stomach was in knots.
As the sun came up, fingers of pink and red sunlight illuminated the rugged rolling rose-coloured granite of the coastline, the jagged stone rounded smooth by the constant buffeting of a relentless and dangerous sea. Dotted along the shoreline were stone cottages, still darkened in sleep, where a mixture of welcome and fear greeted her as Vivi contemplated her next step. She was glad to finally be back on solid ground, but what waited for her ahead?
The captain cut his motor and glided to a desolate rocky cove where, overhead, seagulls screamed and swooped, dropping mussels and oysters onto the rocks below for their breakfast. Usually, SOE preferred to parachute in their operatives, and they had trained Vivi to do that. But with the inclement weather they had been experiencing and Vivi’s thorough knowledge of the coastline, her superior officer had been convinced to allow her to travel in this unorthodox way.
As they drifted to the cove the French fishing fleet always used, their boat disguised to blend in, it astounded Vivi how ordinary everything seemed – a sweet little beach, a perfect spot for a family holiday. Except for the barbed wire, of course, and the ominous swastika billowing in the breeze on top of a bluff. Not having been in France since before the war, she hadn’t known what to expect with the occupation – soldiers waiting with weapons drawn, or gun turrets? But not this.
Hunched out of sight, a black figure emerged from the rocks and moved swiftly towards them. Mr Thompson threw out his rope to the sleepy-looking Frenchman, who caught it and helped guide the boat in. His eyes widened a little when he saw the beautiful woman getting to her feet from the seat she’d been squatting on for hours. She knew that her blonde hair, that she’d had coiffed into the latest Parisian bob, and her emerald green eyes drew attention. An experience she normally welcomed to help her get what she wanted. But now it was different. Her life depended on her not being noticed. So she lowered her head as she took his hand to allow him to help her out of the boat. He wished her good morning in French, and she answered him with a nod before moving swiftly onto the beach. She waved her thanks to the captain, who prepared his craft for the return journey.
It was chilly and her guide led her through the rocks and along a winding path, thick with sea grass that twirled itself into twisted spirals buffeted by the bracing morning wind. When she arrived in the village of Le Diben, the Frenchman – who was wearing a black skullcap and had a day’s worth of growth on his face – nodded at her and pointed in the direction of what was the only sign of life, before disappearing down a side street. Nervously, Vivi clicked along the cobbled pavements as a harsh north wind swept down the street and chilled her to the bone. She was conscious of how quiet it was; just the sound of her echoing footsteps. She wondered if she looked a little odd walking through the streets so early in the morning with a suitcase and a modest bag of personal items she’d been allowed to bring.
In her mind, Vivi repeated the code words she’d been told to remember as she approached the only coffee shop there. Café Liaison seemed appropriate for what she was about to undertake.
Arriving, Vivi was disappointed to see the café was still closed. So she sat at one of the little metal tables outside with her case carrying the wireless at her feet, hoping that it wouldn’t draw too much scrutiny.
As Vivi lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke to calm herself, two Nazis marched by and nodded to her. ‘Fräulein.’
Vivi answered in French, as she had been taught, and nodded her head. This was the first time she’d seen someone in the enemy’s uniform, and her task suddenly felt extremely real. It had seemed a little like a game while she’d been training, and now that she knew what was expected of her, she felt her heart start to pound.
Behind her, a rattling clatter made her jump as the owner of the café rolled up a metal door to open the coffee shop. Turning, she caught sight of a man who eyed her with slight apprehension as she waited there, obviously an odd sight so early in the morning. Knowing this was her contact, Vivi was surprised. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this older, balding man with a cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips, droopy eyes and a less than clean apron, behind which hairy shoulders hinted at just a vest underneath even though it was cold.
‘Mademoiselle?’ he acknowledged in a sleepy drawl. Then he informed her he would have nothing for her to drink or eat for another half an hour while he set up his café. She nodded, responding to him in French that it was fine and she was enjoying the view. But honestly, she just sat staring out into the water, wishing the minutes away.
When finally he was ready for customers, Vivi went to the counter, and he watched her, a little bemused, as she looked through the glass at the pastries he had to offer.
A petite woman by his side with tight brown curls also eyed her with curiosity. Vivi pretended to be deciding on breakfast and waited until the woman went back into the kitchen. Then she leaned forward and whispered the words SOE had given her.
‘I am wondering, sir,’ Vivi enquired in French, ‘if perhaps you have swordfish on the menu for dinner?’
The man looked taken aback and raised his eyebrows then studied her up and down before repeating, ‘Swordfish? You want swordfish?’
That was not the response she was expecting. Nervously she wondered if she’d got the wrong place.
‘I’m sorry. Maybe I made a mistake,’ she blurted out. ‘I was looking for a café that maybe sold that to eat.’
‘No, you’re in the correct place, mademoiselle. But the swordfish only comes on Tuesdays,’ he stated, now replying to her with the response that she had been expecting to hear. He then added with a hint of sarcasm, ‘I’m just not used to a woman desiring to eat such a delicacy. The flesh can be very tough.’
Vivi knew he was doubting her abilities and wanted to tackle him right there and then. She pictured placing him in a chokehold she had been very accomplished in to prove her salt. But instead she pinched her mouth into a smile.
The ash from the end of his cigarette dropped down his apron, and he screwed up his left eye as the smoke spiralled its way there, too. Eventually, he shrugged his shoulders, nodded his head, and shuffled into the kitchen. A young boy came out and, mounting his bicycle, pedalled off down the street.
If Jepson was correct, once she’d had this conversation, the man would alert someone who would take her to the next part of her mission. She also knew the name of the operative, an agent called the Terrier, allegedly named that in response to his ability to get in and out of challenging situations with ease.
The café owner arrived back at the counter and nodded his head.
‘I am looking into your swordfish,’ he informed her in a dull monotone. ‘Would you like some breakfast, instead?’
She wasn’t hungry. In fact, her stomach was churning, but she realised that sitting there without a drink or anything in front of her would look suspicious. So she scanned another tray of pastries that his wife had just carried out from the kitchen as she continued to stare at Vivi with wariness. The plate of croissants smelled delectable. Vivi pointed at one and ordered it along with a café au lait. Then, passing across her fake French ration card, Vivi positioned herself back at her table, keeping her wireless at her feet.